Weakness
by Cicci Green
Summary: Eowyn feels weak when Grima Wormtounge touches her. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me. The characters belong to JRR Tolkien and his heirs, and the script this is based on belongs to New Line Cinema. Sadly.**

This is just an idea I came up with while watching The Two Towers the other day. It's not really something I usually write, but when I watched the scene, I heard the first sentences of this story in my head, and I knew I had to write it down. It ended up a lot darker than I intended it from the beginning, but I didn't really have a choice in that… ;)  


**Feedback would be _very _appreciated.**

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Weakness.

That is what she feels.

Yes, Eowyn feels weak as she sits besides the cold, dead body of Theodred, tears coursing down her cheeks. 

That her beloved cousin should die so young, when he still has so much to live for, so much left to do. Eowyn feels that it would have been better if she had died and not him. She doubts she would be as missed and mourned as Theodred will be. She is, after all, a woman. A woman, good for nothing else than child bearing and household duties. She is a woman, though she fervently wishes she was not. She has every skill the men have, she has learned! She can fight, she is good for more than this!

But no. She is a woman. An honourable warrior's fate will never be hers. Women are weak. She is weak.

Eowyn kisses Theodred's icy hand and _he _appears in the doorway. She knows what Eomer fears, and she too has seen it in _his _ eyes. And then Grima Wormtounge speaks.

"Oh, he… he must have dies sometime during the night. What a tragedy for the king to lose his only son and _heir" _

He is right. Better she had died instead.

He moves forward, and she feels the mattress dip as he sits down besides the remains of her cousin.

"I understand his passing is hard to accept, especially now that your brother has deserted you…"

She feels the light pressure of his hand as it settles on her shoulder. It traps her, and yet…

Eowyn knows he does not wish her to die. He may think her only an object, but he does not want her to die. He _wants _her. He wants her like no other man has ever wanted her before. It scares her, and yet, she is oddly comforted by the thought. Someone in this world thinks that she is more than a nuisance. Perhaps… Perhaps he understands her…

And then the impact of what he just said hits her, and the fragile glass bowl of hope she has blown shatters in a million pieces.

"Leave me alone, snake!"

Eowyn has seen what Grima… _The Wormtounge _has done to the king, and she lets him come that close to her? She lets him _touch _her. She is weak.

She shies away from the bed. He remains seated, and continues to stare at her. His blue, bloodshot eyes jut out sharply against the sickly hue of his skin. She stares back at him.

He fascinates her. Eowyn understands Grima, if just a little bit, for they are very much alike. They are both _weak_. While her whole sex is weak, his very soul, his male soul, is weak. He desires power. He is greedy. Around him, her own weakness diminishes compared to his. That is why she is drawn to him.

He speaks again, malice shining in his eyes. Or is it malice?

"Oh, but you are alone. Who knows what you have spoken to the darkness?"

Eowyn's gaze flickers around the room to fix on him. What is he saying? He rises, his moments slow and threatening.

"In the bitter watches of the night, when all your life seems to shrink…"

He circles her, stalks her, like a wolf preying on a lamb.

"The walls of your bower closing on about you, like a hutch to trammel some _wild thing _in."

He stops in front of her and Eowyn can feels his hot breath on her face, and smell the stink of it.

"So fair… So cold."

His han goes to her face, and sends shockwaves spiraling down her body. Not of pleasure, as she has heard in the tales whispered by other girls her age, but of something else. Something darker. She dares not call it desire, for how could she desire this man, the very man who has banished her brother, and destroyed her uncle, and his once glorious kingdom?

"Like a pale spring morning, still clinging to winter's chill…"

Cold? Yes, Eowyn is cold. Her blood burns with the cold in her heart, and his words make it colder still. She can not repress a shudder as his hand moves down her face, and she leans her head into it. It is strange, that she feels so many different emotions for this vile man. This small, dark, disgusting, sniveling man. His dirty fingers caress her pale skin, tainting it, threatening to draw her into the darkness of his eyes and soul. He sees right through her.

Grima's hand moves from her face to her throat, and she almost gives in. She feels her heart beating against his fingers, and she knows he can feel it too. She senses how Grima tenses in anticipation.

Filthy, strong fingers around her throat, seducing her. The same fingers that banished her brother, dimmed her uncle's mind, and she suspects, killed her beloved cousin. Those fingers touch her soul, and melts the ice that has replaced her blood. How can she stand there with blood pulsating in her veins from his touch? _**How**?_

He leans in, and Eowyn's mind goes blank. What if he comes even closer, and his lips touches hers, and his eyes meet hers, and what if her eyes close?

What happens then?

Eowyn suddenly hears a voice, sounding very much like her uncle, before the man in front of her came along.

_"You should never stop fighting, child. That is what separates the warriors from deserters. The brave from the cowards. The strong from the weak…"_

Eowyn may not be a warrior in the world's eyes, but she is in hers. She may be a woman, but she will be a honourable solider, just like her brother. Even is she is the only ones who knows it. She will not end up like Grima Wormtounge, not ever.

But she still runs from the room, way from him, with one thought in her mind.

Weakness.

Yes, Eowyn is weak.


End file.
